A review by pceboll
The Autobiography of My Mother by Jamaica Kincaid

emotional

5.0

I'm in love. How is it possible for a narrative voice to be so withholding yet so vulnerable? Nihilistic, yet the acknowledgement of hope and beauty always remains. A book that I was sure would send me into a depression ended up being one I devoured with relish...what does it mean? What is identity? Who gets to decide who we are, what are the parts that make us up? Can disconnection be our saving grace? Unbeholden to others is where our freedom lies. Kincaid is an author I will definitely be visiting again.